


From Pillar to Post

by foxtwin



Category: Alice In Wonderland - Lewis Carroll
Genre: Cats, Gen, Literary References & Allusions, Music, Puns & Word Play, Tea, architecture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-11
Updated: 2013-12-11
Packaged: 2018-01-04 07:49:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1078408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxtwin/pseuds/foxtwin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>...In which the Hatter and the Hare meet the Cheshire Cat at Tea for the first time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	From Pillar to Post

**Author's Note:**

  * For [IgnobleBard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IgnobleBard/gifts).



> Many thanks to my beta, SlowMercury.

“If you insist on making fun of my ears, I shall have to ration your tea,” the March Hare exclaimed rather too loudly for the Mad Hatter’s tastes. 

“And if you insist on rationing my tea, I shall have to make fun of your ears,” the Mad Hatter countered.

“Aha! That was your third abuse! You shall now have to pay me interest,” the Hare declared. 

They had been trading abuses (two pence each, for starters) in between cups of tea. 

“But, I have none,” the Hatter said, noticing his pockets empty.

“Perhaps you’ve lost it,” the Hare said.

“Perhaps. Or mislaid it,” the Hatter said, checking under saucers, in the sugar bowl, and every empty tea cup at the table.

“Your lack of interest is quite upsetting,” the Hare said. “What else shall we use if we are to trade abuses?”

The Hatter looked under the table. “Nothing else will do. I must have completely lost my interest,” he finally said.

The Dormouse emerged from his teapot with a small cup of treacle. The Hatter, noticing the gift, gave a relieved sigh. “Ah! Here it is.”

“Your interest?” the Hare asked.

“How stupid of me! I must have given all my interest to the Dormouse. And now he’s returning it,” the Hatter remarked, taking the treacle from the Dormouse and presenting it to the Hare, who looked at it skeptically. It certainly did not look like two pence. 

“How long has he held your interest?” the Hare asked. “It couldn’t have been very long.”

“Well, there you’re wrong,” the Hatter said. “He’s held my interest for at least a minute.”

The Hare was still not convinced, so he addressed the Dormouse. “What did you just give to the Hatter?”

“Treacle,” the Dormouse said lazily. 

“How much did it cost you?” the Hare asked.

“Two pints,” the Dormouse said, retreating back into the teapot.

Satisfied, the Hare took the treacle and poured it into his teacup. “I’ve a mind to end the conversation. For as you’ve decided to be irrational, there’s no use telling you the news,” the Hare said.

“What news?” the Hatter asked, unable to contain his curiosity. “Do tell.”

“No. You shan’t know it as you’ve decided to be irrational.”

“Well, that figures,” the Hatter said. 

“You can’t figure. You never graduated.”

“There you’re wrong! I graduated.”

“From which school?”

“From the Cylinder School in Cannes. It had a revolving door policy.”

“You went to study with the French? As I suspected. What degree did you receive?”

“Three hundred sixty, like everyone else.”

“And your major?”

“Circular logic, with the Minor in Tear-up-tions.”

“That figures again,” said the Hare. "What were some of your courses?"

“Crying, Flailing, and Splashing of Teas. You may recall I used that last one at poor Alice's trial." 

“Yes, you're very good at that last one," Hare said, noticing quite a few tea stains on the table cloth. 

“Now may I have your news? The longer you wait, the more likely _it_ shall get old and stale.” Hatter was looking at one of the scones on a plate in the center of the table that Bill the Lizard had baked long ago.

“Not now,” the Hare insisted. “And it isn’t so much news as something I’ve noticed. But I must transmit it first.”

“Then, when shall you transmit it?” the Hatter asked.

“Tomorrow, when the Post comes.” 

“Why tomorrow? Doesn’t the Post come every day? Isn’t it quicker than that?”

“The Post _usually_ is quicker,” the Hare said. “But today it broke its fast. So it will have to come tomorrow.”

“Are you fasting, too?” the Hatter asked, looking at Hare’s mostly untouched place setting. 

“I _am_ fasting. But I’m taking no _notice_ , and neither should you. Not yet,” the Hare said, and he took a scone from the serving plate and dipped it into his empty teacup. 

“You could send it with Bill,” Hatter suggested. 

“Not a chance! I hate having to pay that nasty Bill every month! And you remember when Alice was here? That Bill shot up like a rocket! I’m not of a mind to have it happen again.”

“Why not take your notice to the Pillar, then?”

“She’s in the pillory,” the Hare said, his mouth full of scone. 

“Why? Did she pillage?”

“Not exactly,” the Hare said, swallowing.

“Did it have to do with pillows, then?”

“I’m not sure, though she was all cotton-mouthed. The town crier reported yesterday, in dolorous tones, that the Pillar had cracked. The Queen said the Pillar was rising above her station.”

“King’s orders, then?”

“More likely the Queen’s,” Hare said.

“Couldn’t have been the Queen’s,” Hatter countered. “She’d have lopped off her head and sent it by the Post.”

“There you’re wrong. It was just as well that she was trying to get it.”

“Get what?” the Hatter asked. 

“Ahead…when the sentence came down.”

“Well, she must not have had a capital head, at any rate,” the Hatter said. “Otherwise it would have been lopped off.”

“Ah, but she did have a lot of capital. That’s how she could afford university. But even with the university’s high quality edification, she found that she could not get ahead anyway,” the Hare explained knowingly. “It had to do with the university’s headmasters, you see.

“You should have heard the testimony at court,” he continued. “It nearly caused the whole edificational structure to collapse. The Pillar had been too far behind in school. She hadn’t had a good foundation. She was too soft, and what foundation she had wasn’t being reinforced.”

“Not too bright, then?” the Hatter asked.

“No chance of that! The Post had all the light in her lamp.”

“So, how did the Pillar get put through her courses?” 

“Not well at all! She hadn’t read the finial chapiter, and so she was further brought to task for not completing her finial examinations.”

“No polish,” the Hatter said after taking a sip of his tea. 

“None whatsoever. When she attempted to polish her studies, she could find no relief! The columns kept getting wider and wider, and the margin for error became too great for any further consideration of her studies. The stress was too much for her; she buckled under the pressure and cracked. That was the capstone of the testimony.”

“She must have been too rigidly brought up,” the Hatter remarked.

“Straight as a rod,” the Hare said.

“…So she couldn’t get ahead as a result,” the Hatter finished.

“Just so,” the Hare agreed. “That is why the Queen couldn’t lop it off, you see. The Pillar hadn’t got a head. That’s what put her in the pillory.” 

Just then, a large head appeared out of nowhere. The head of a cat, that is – with rather large, pointy ears, and a grin that was almost as wide as its face.

“Do you think my head might substitute for hers?” the cat-head asked. “I’m sure the Pillar could borrow it.”

The Hatter and Hare blinked at the sight, then looked at each other. Then they laughed heartily, whether at the cat or themselves neither truly knew. They had never seen a large cat’s head floating in the air before, or one that grinned so widely, or one whose ears were so… pointy! 

When the cat began to hiss like a snake at them through that grin, they weren’t sure whether to laugh more or be frightened. They, therefore, ceased their laughter and did neither. 

“Cream?” Hare asked, composing himself at once and pouring tea into a saucer plate. 

“Don't mind if I do,” the cat-head said, still grinning. It allowed the rest of its body to appear and settled gently on the large table of teacups. Hare dumped the saucer of tea, and poured the cat a saucer of creamy milk.

“Who are you?” Hatter asked, curiously. “And how did you get such pointy ears?”

“Who are you?” the cat asked in reply. “And how did you get such a flat head?”

“I-I am the Hatter,” Hatter said, flustered at the turn-about, and he felt under his hat to test the flatness of his head. 

“He’s mad,” the Hare remarked, pointing to the Hatter. 

“And so am I. And so are you,” said the cat. “That makes us odd. Otherwise, if only the Hatter and I were mad, we’d be even.”

“Now it’s your turn,” Hatter prodded. “Who are you?”

“The question is misplaced. You ought to say, ‘What are you,’ not ‘Who are you.’ But I will forgive the transgression. I am a Cheshire Cat.” 

At this, the March Hare dove under the table for fear that if the Cat were hungry, he might become the Cat’s meal at Tea. 

“Did I overhear you telling him he’s irrational?” the Cat said, moving his head under the table to address Hare.

“Aha! So you were eavesdropping on our conversation, then!” Hare said a bit too emphatically. 

Hatter burst out laughing, pulling Hare up from under the table into the chair next to him. “You dolt! He isn’t dropping anything remotely akin to eaves. Besides, we fixed those last month.”

“Well, if he isn’t dropping eaves, what is he dropping?”

“My name,” the Cat said.

“Adams, of course!” Hatter said, ignoring the Cat’s remark. 

“Watch your language,” Hare rebuked sharply under his breath, pointing to the Cat. “This one might be underage.”

This quieted Hatter’s laughter, changing it to puzzlement. “I only said…”

“…And that should suffice.” Hare turned from Hatter and addressed their new guest. “Now, Cat…or is it Cheshire? Perhaps we’ll call you Chat for short. If you must know the Hatter is irrational today, so it wouldn’t do to provoke him any further. He’s itching for a fight.” 

“Which explains why he’s not scratching himself,” the Cat remarked. “As for me, I’m rash and rational, so I scratch myself.”

“Don’t you also scratch trees and such?” Hare asked.

“Now and then, when the need arises,” the Cat said. “But that is secondary to the conversation. You never introduced yourself.”

“I am the March Hare, although I was born in September.”

“You look more like an overgrown rabbit.” The Hatter waved his arms at Cat’s mention of Hare being a rabbit, hoping the Cat would take some notice of him, but the Cat continued the conversation. “Do you go bald the rest of the year, then?”

Hare was unimpressed with the way the Cat talked. “I am the March Hare, and no rabbit! I am certainly not bald, as you can see this fine December morning! The bald one covers his baldness with a hat, you see.”

“Hmm. I see your point.”

“You said my bald head was flat,” the Hatter retorted. 

“So what’s your point?” the Hare asked.

“My finger in your eye,” the Hatter replied hotly. “Unless that cat cares to retract its statement.”

“No. He cannot retract the statement – though he may do well to retract the claws.” 

“In that case,” said the Cat, “I shall retract the clause and ask another question. Why March, exactly?” 

“For the exercise, of course,” the Hatter explained. 

“All year round? Why not just call yourself Hare and be done with it?” the Cat asked.

“Not all year round. No vocation lasts that long,” the Hatter said. 

“And where does he take his vocation?” the Cat asked with a wide grin. 

“My vocation is taken in the Keys,” Hare said in response. “I particularly like the Keys of Bee and Sea for my vocation.”

“Major or Minor?” the Cat asked. 

“Major, of course. You have to be of age to have a vocation in one of the Major Keys.”

“But not if you’re a sharp Minor,” the Hatter interjected. “Then you can be in the Major or Minor Keys as long as you like.”

“Not true,” the Hare disagreed. “One of those minors grew up to be a Drum Major. He worked his way right up to Keeper of the Keys at the local university and tried to augment a third of his faculty; he always had Time’s signature of approval.”

“Speaking of which,” Hatter said, “people are always so ready to beat Time when they’re in the Keys.”

“He has ways of getting around that,” Hare said. “Every now and again, Time will change signature for good measure.”

“How’s that?” the Cat asked. 

“Our Drum Major always kept a steady rhythm,” the Hare said. “He never missed a beat, until he found a sour note in the school’s register.”

“They found out that his March had been too long in the Keys,” the Hatter said. “So the long vocation was ruined, and he was sadly transposed from his lofty commission.”

“Poor fellow,” the Cat said. “Did he ever recover?”

“Yes, but he never got a tenored salary after that. Only bass,” the Hare said. “He developed a sore throat and the vocational polyps. He had to use a lot of cacophony medicine to keep it under control. His language skills suffered as well.”

“That’s not completely true,” the Hatter said. “He was fluent in phlegm-ish.”

The Cat nodded understandingly. “We cats are equally unmusical animals. All we can manage is one note on the scale.”

“I thought you ate fish,” the Hatter said. “Don’t they have a lot of scales?”

“They do,” the Cat replied. “But the scales and bones get stuck in the throat and cause us a lot of pain. It’s why we can only sing mi-ow, mi-ow. Every note is painful.”

“Too true,” the Hare said. “Painful music it is.”

“We’ve tried to do the whole musical scale from Do to Do, but we can only manage the Mi, and that only painfully.”

“I’ve sometimes had to go Do to Do selling my hats,” the Hatter remarked mournfully. “And that’s often painful, too.”

“Well,” the Hare said, “there’s nothing better for the throat than a good cup of hot tea.”

“Oh,” the Cat said. “I’ve tried the Ti. It gave Mi a headache the first time, too, sol I won’t try it again.”

“Perhaps you’ll take a scone?” the Hatter offered.

“I’m not fond of the dough,” the Cat said politely.

“He won't be able anyway, now that it's gone!" The Hare said, finishing the last bite. 

The Hatter, pleased to have made a new friend, poured himself an extra cup of Ti. 

The Dormouse, deciding to be more sociable, emerged from his teapot only to see the face of the Cheshire Cat and his wide grin – a grin the Dormouse believed was intended for him. The Dormouse shivered so violently upon seeing the cat, he upended the teapot. 

“Your grin upsets him,” the Hare told the Cat, not unkindly. 

“Then I should be going,” the Cat said. “I’m sure we will catch sight of each other again.”

“Of course we will,” the Hatter replied, righting the teapot and replacing the shaking Dormouse safely inside of it.

The Hare looked doubtfully at the Hatter. “If he doesn’t do Tea, I doubt he’ll return.”

“Oh, I’ll return, to be sure. The company was delightful. But next time, I will be sure to come invited.”

“Excellent,” the Hare said, thrilled to have made a new friend. “Shall we notify you by Pillar or by Post?”

“Neither,” the Cat said with a rather wide grin. “I’d prefer all further notices by hare mail.”


End file.
